


Something Borrowed

by whitedandelions



Category: Uprooted - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, No Summoning Spell, Sarkan's POV, Sharing Magic, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-08 05:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12857775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitedandelions/pseuds/whitedandelions
Summary: Sarkan knows sharing magic shouldn’t be possible.  But like everything with Agnieszka, even something impossible can be done.  An AU without the Summoning Spell.





	Something Borrowed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/down/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!!!! I hope you enjoy. I really enjoyed all of your prompts and I'm so happy I got you as my recip! I couldn't fit Kasia in, I really tried getting an OT3 to work but it just wasn't flowing, so I wrote you a KasiaxAgnieszka treat as well! Thank you for being a great recip :)
> 
> betaed by htbthomas. Thank you so much for your corrections, they really helped! Especially on such a timely matter too :) you rock!

When Sarkan first saw Agnieszka, he thought nothing of her.  He wouldn’t take her from her family; she wouldn’t belong in the Tower, anyway.  

And then she held the flame, and even though he didn’t want to, he chose her.

The days following were an endless nightmare.  Agnieszka made a mess of absolutely _everything_.  She could make the short trip from the kitchen to the library, and somehow end up as if she had gone through a storm.  It drove him nuts.

He taught her _vanastalem._

And yet, despite her being in finery, Agnieszka never learned how to stay neat.  He half-wanted to follow her around and cast _vanastalem_ on her every time she took a step.

Those with magic weren’t supposed to go around looking like they had gone through a storm; at least, not those who learned magic from _him_.

But he wouldn’t give up on her.  She deserved to learn magic, even if she drove him insane with her half-hearted attempts.  He could see her potential, and he refused to squander it.

He thought the ten years would be up by the time he saw any of it realized.

And then the girl had gone off to Dvernik when he was busy dealing with a chimera, and he had gone half-mad with worry as he made the trip back.  Of all bull-headed things to do, she had thought it was a smart idea to confront the Wood on her own.  

In his hurry to protect the girl, he had gotten wounded.  The wolf’s claw had penetrated his skin, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before he became corrupted.  It wasn’t easy to do so, but he had put his life in the girl’s hands.

And then she had saved him.  Against all odds, against _everything_ , she had saved him.

He became fascinated with her.  

At first, it was because everything she did was impossible.  Her magic simply didn’t make sense to him.

He tried his best to dissect it.  To put it into small compartments that he understood.  He tried to recreate every single piece of magic he saw her cast, and failed spectacularly.

The teacher had become the student.

At first, he was enraged.  He was in a temper for a week, sulking and recasting and failing all over again.  

But he soon realized he was being dull.  He had hoped the girl would realize her potential and she _had_.  She was just going down a path he could not follow, and neither could he help lead her.  He would have to stay behind and shout encouragement to her in hopes it would help.

He found other books of Jaga’s and gave them to her.

Agnieszka’s eyes shone when she grabbed at the books, and Sarkan couldn’t look away.

He realized what was happening when he went to bed that night.  His fascination was becoming something more.  The girl fit none of his preconceived notions of beauty, and she infuriated him daily.  They were too different; Agnieszka bumbled through things, and Sarkan did everything by the book.  His magic, no, his very _being_ was about doing magic the right way, the _known_ way, and Agniezka just couldn’t.  Her magic was a living thing, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The month after he realized was torture.  Not because he realized he was fascinated in Agnieszka, but because he had to watch Agnieszka’s magic prevail again and again when he thought it would fail.  It was rewriting every one of his beliefs, and the galling thing was that the girl didn’t even _realize_ she was doing so.  Jaga’s magic had been lost to them for centuries, and here she was, slapdash workings and all, creating magic more beautiful than he had ever seen.

And it was so very beautiful.

He didn’t understand it.  He would never be able to recreate any of her spells.

It brought a sense of nostalgia.  Back when he was a child, he hadn’t been able to see what magic was.  And that unknown quality was what made magic fascinating.

He itched to figure it out.  He had some sleepless nights that month, poring over Jaga’s books and trying his best to understand why Agnieszka was so different.

And then, a month into their training, Agnieszka was struggling to create an illusion of a flower.

He tried to teach her; he created his own illusion of a flower and overlaid it on her failed one.  She had bitten her lips and concentrated, and Sarkan barely held back his gasp as Agnieszka did the unthinkable.  She was _combining_ their magic.  It felt wrong, and yet felt right at the same time, and Sarkan watched in wonder as the illusion grew.  

He knew her magic was as messy as its creator was.  The magic wasn’t put together.  It seemed to be thrown all together at once.

And Sarkan found it beautiful.

Then she pulled her hands away, and when Sarkan looked up, there was a hot flush on her cheeks.

The illusion disappeared slowly.  Vines retreated, flowers wilted, and the smell drifted away as if called by an unknown breeze.  

Agnieszka disappeared just as they did.

And Sarkan had stood there for an hour, the magic in the air still there and calling his name.

* * *

“Agnieszka.”

She whirled, and Sarkan did his best to overlook the stains covering her dress.  He wasn’t here to lecture her again.

Besides, it was growing on him.  Perhaps this is what suited Agnieszka best.  She wasn’t meant for finery, and he wouldn’t force her into it again.

“Why are you here?” she asked, and Sarkan noticed the way her back was straight and her mouth set in a mulish frown.  She was in a mood.

“You didn’t come to the library,” he said, and she bit her lip.  He wanted to tell her not to; her lips were chapped enough as it was, but he kept silent.  She wouldn’t appreciate it.  “I was under the impression you wanted to learn.”

She deflated.  “I do,” she said.  Her voice was soft.  “But that was… strange, wasn’t it?”  

She met his eyes now.  She didn’t look scared, despite her soft tone, and Sarkan was fascinated.  She was such a bundle of contradictory things that it didn’t make sense.

“Yes,” he said, “and we’re going to attempt it again.”

Her eyes were wide.  

He wasn’t going to take no for an answer.  He turned instead of saying so, and started to make his way back up the Tower.

Luckily, Agnieszka didn’t say no.  She followed him without a word.

Their first attempt didn’t go well.

Agnieszka was too skittish.  What happened four days ago had scared her.  

It had scared Sarkan, too.  It felt as if she had been looking into his very being.  

But Sarkan was more curious than he was scared, and he hoped that with time, she would start to wonder, too.

It only took her four more tries before the roses became a garden once more.  

This time, she didn’t pull away.  Their magic _sang_ together.  He felt lightheaded with the sheer strength of their power combined.

Agnieszka was smiling.  She continued to push magic at the illusion, and Sarkan watched in disbelief as the garden continued to _grow_.  He had never even seen flowers like the ones she was creating, and she was seemingly doing it with little to no effort.

He wished desperately that his hands were free.  He wanted to try to touch them, see how much was illusion, and how much was real.  He could even smell them.

“How long can you keep it running?” he asked, and she turned her attention back to him.

She was _glowing_.  

“I don’t know,” she said, and normally, such an admission would rankle him.  But her happiness was catching, and he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face at her words.  She timidly smiled back at him, and then turned her gaze to the flowers still blooming around them.  “It’s not taxing,” she said.  “I think I can do this forever.”

She seemed to remember where she was after her words, because a worried expression flitted across her face.  She pulled her hands away, and the illusion broke slowly.

Sarkan struggled for something to say as the flowers wilted and vines retreated, because it was obvious that the girl had only pulled away because of him.  He still scared her.  And he only had himself to blame.  

“Let’s eat,” he said, eventually.  “You must be famished.”

It must had been the right thing to say, because Agnieszka immediately brightened.  

“Okay,” she said, happily, and led the way to the kitchens.

\---

Teaching Agnieszka became more enjoyable after that.  Sarkan swallowed his pride, and tried not to needle her to teach him.  He had already accepted that there was no way he could cast her type of magic.  Multiple failings of attempting to do so had cemented that idea anyway.

She wasn’t as afraid of him anymore as she had started out to be.  She had always been defiant to him, but he had noticed that she would sometimes hold back her true thoughts in the beginning.

Now, she never did so.

And it was _maddening_ that Sarkan didn’t mind.  

He was years older than her, and she never hesitated to correct him.  Most of the time she was wrong simply because of knowledge she did not yet possess, but sometimes, she was right.  

She had an innate knack for magic, and Sarkan delighted in teaching her.

They only shared magic every Friday.  It was too daunting to do more often.  Sometimes, when they finished doing magic, Sarkan started to feel even more connected with Agnieszka.  Sometimes, after they had called their own magic back into their bodies, he wanted to hold her.  He wanted to kiss her.  The feelings he held for Agnieszka were getting more difficult to control, and sharing magic made him dangerously close to breaking.

And sometimes, he felt that way even when they hadn’t shared magic.

He didn’t know if sharing magic was causing him to feel this way, but at the same time, he didn’t want to stop.

Sharing magic was unknown to their world.  No one had ever attempted to do so before, and there were no texts about it.  Sarkan hadn’t even known that it was possible.  Combined with the fact that Agnieszka seemed hardly affected by their combined magic, Sarkan decided to shove down his feelings and continue teaching her.

And it was beautiful.

Her magic expanded far beyond what he could have ever imagined.  

It had its limits, however.  All the magic they shared, they had to find an equivalent in Sarkan’s magic.  And then Agnieszka would have to practice the spell on her own, at first, until she was able to pull it off without his help.

She always knew when it was time to combine their magic.

And when she did, the effects multiplied.  

It wasn’t always as flashy as the illusion of the roses.  Sometimes, it was small.  And sometimes, the effects were more ridiculous than useful.  The first time they cast _vanastalem_ together, their clothes became robes of sheer magic.  It was beautiful, and Sarkan was half sure that the designs had come from him because of the way it had manifested and the way Agnieszka had stared in shock, and Sarkan still had the robes hung up in his wardrobe.  His was full of constellations, while hers were made of thorns and nature.

For someone who had grown up near the Wood, it was baffling how Agnieszka still harbored a soft spot for nature.  The first time they went out of the Tower for a lesson, Agnieszka had beamed happily the whole time, her hands never straying from the soft grass underneath them.  When they cast magic that day, Agnieszka’s felt bubbly and he had retreated before long, unable to bear the light-hearted magic within him for too long.

(She had teased him, called him grumpy, and he couldn’t find a single word to say in his defense.)

It was two months in that they finally tried sharing magic the other way around.  With Sarkan in charge instead of Agnieszka.  They had waited so long simply because it had taken that long for Sarkan to finally learn the way she pushed their magic together.  Agnieszka wasn’t much help in this regard; it came so easily to her that she struggled to explain it to him.  But months of having her magic in him helped, and Sarkan had finally learned how to push his own magic into her.

His was clean, neat, contained to some degree.  Agnieszka’s magic was overflowing and messy.  So for him to push magic into her took him a while to learn.  He had to learn how to push his magic out without a care to where it would spill, and when he finally _did_ learn, AgnieszkaAgniezska’s magic welcomed it.  

The shared spells he controlled had finesse to them.  He couldn’t control it any more than Agnieszka could, but his magic had been neat its whole life.  It didn’t know how to overflow.  Flowers that bloomed from their illusions were ones he knew; they weren’t as vibrant and otherworldly as Agnieszka’s had been.

But Agnieszka’s eyes still shone with the beauty of it all, and that was enough.

* * *

The spells they cast weren’t always aesthetically pleasing, however.  Sarkan took Agnieszka to the tombs, a place where magic was contained to some degree.  There, he taught her more destructive spells.

Agnieszka hadn’t wanted to at first, but when he reminded her of the Wood and of the cows, she had acquiesced, a hard look in her eyes.  

It took her a long while to master.  She could conjure up fire, but she was sweating afterward, and Sarkan hadn’t wanted to push her.  

She didn’t take to destructive spells as well as she did the more benign spells.  She struggled with it.  

Until she tried _fulmia_.  She took off her shoes and stomped the ground with her bare feet, and the walls shook.  If Sarkan hadn’t casted protective magic right then and there, he was sure the walls would have caved in on them.

“Are you mad?” he asked, out of fear, and she made a face at him.

“You asked me to,” she said, petulantly and like a child, and Sarkan threw up his hands.

There was a tense silence, and then Sarkan broke it with a bark of a laugh.  “If you cast that in the Wood,” he started, and Agnieszka’s eyes sparkled when she looked at him.

* * *

Sarkan didn’t have a single talent for healing.  He could cast the spells, yes, and he was able to clean up the smallest of wounds, but something like cleansing out corruption like she had done was impossible for him.  He didn’t expect to be any help to her, but Agnieszka insisted on him sitting down and letting her try.

He didn’t cast any magic.  He held her hand, and stayed quiet as she closed her eyes and started to hum.  

They were starting small.  One of the trees in front of the tower was dying, poisoned by something unknown.  Sarkan suspected the Wood, but regardless of the source, it would serve a fine test subject for their combined magic.

She had rosemary and lemon with her, burning on a pot nearby.  She had used those ingredients the night she had healed him, and although it wouldn’t be of use in their healing of the tree, the smell calmed her.  It gave a sense of healing to their area.

“ _Tihas, tihas, kai tihas,”_ she sang, and for the first time, Sarkan didn’t cast an answering spell.  He didn’t have time to because Agnieszka’s magic was already drawing his out.  He choked on it, and blinked furiously as he felt her draw more and more of it.  

In front of his eyes, he watched as the tree started to stand tall again.  Its leaves were turning from brown to green, and its roots were unfurling before them, settling back down into the soil with what  seemed like relief.

And through it all, Agnieszka continued to chant the two words of pure magic to the tune of a birthday song.  The smell of rosemary and lemon became cloying, overpowering his nostrils until it was the only thing he could smell.

His grip was loosening on hers.  The drawing of his magic wouldn’t stop, even as he vainly tried to stem it.  He tried a variety of spells and tried closing his mind to the onslaught, but as Agnieszka continued singing, the spell continued to draw at him.

He tried to say something, but his mouth was dry.  His heart shriveled in horror as he realized what was happening, that this might be his death.  That he might die because of Agnieszka’s inexperience, and her beautiful magic, and he had no way to let her know.

The tree sprouted the last of its new greenery, and the drawing of his magic suddenly stopped.

He felt queasy, and the abrupt stopping of the drain was enough to make him feel faint.  She had let go of his hand.

“It worked!” she exclaimed, and turned to look at him.

Her eyes were full of horror as he slumped forward, and they were the last thing he saw before his vision went black.

* * *

They didn’t talk for a week after Agnieszka healed the tree.  

Sarkan was drained after the encounter and didn’t have the energy to console Agnieszka.  It was startling to find that she had taken some of his magic, but he was slowly coming to terms with it.

He didn’t blame her for doing so.  She was a beginner.  She didn’t mean to nearly drain him dry.  It was his own fault for pushing her.

It would have been longer than a week if Sarkan hadn’t run into her in the stairway.  Just like the first time they had done so, they tripped over each other and nearly went tumbling down the stairs.

Sarkan stopped them with a well-timed spell.  Agnieszka’s cheeks were a brilliant red.

“Hi,” she said, and Sarkan shrugged.

“I was just about to make midday lunch,” she explained quietly, and Sarkan was about to bring up the healing fiasco when she all but fled from the scene.

He was too stunned to shout after her, and was still sitting on the ground, so he didn’t.

Sarkan sorely regretted this later when Agnieszka came back to the Tower with a corrupted Kasia in tow.  He fed her the potions required with his heart beating ridiculously fast and biting his lip hard to stop himself from reprimanding her.

* * *

Despite having to heal Kasia, Agnieszka and Sarkan still tiptoed around each other.  Their built up camaraderie from sharing magic was all but shattered by the realization Agnieszka had the power to take magic from him.

Sarkan continued to teach Agnieszka magic, but they no longer shared magic every Friday.  Sarkan trusted Agnieszka, but it was clear that she didn’t trust herself.

So they continued to research and cast a multitude of failed spells at Kasia.

Until Sarkan got fed up with it.  A month after Kasia had been kept in the tombs, he sat her down and said, “Our magic is strongest combined.  You know that.  The _tree_ knows that.  It’s about time we gave Kasia a fighting chance.”

“But what if I kill you?” she asked, quietly.  Her knuckles were white from how tightly she was gripping onto her arms.  “I don’t know when to stop.”

“Then don’t take it from me,” he said.  “Magic is always best when it’s given willingly.”

“And you would?” she asked, sharply.  She finally looked at him, and Sarkan couldn’t tear his eyes away.  He hadn’t seen her eyes since the incident.  

“Yes,” he said, and it didn’t feel like a lie.

* * *

The next morning, they went to the tombs.

Agnieszka was shaking.  She tripped on the stairs going down, nearly taking Sarkan down with her.  He caught her with a spell and if they weren’t so stressed, Sarkan probably would tease her about her clumsiness.  With her tense as she was, he kept his mouth shut.

But when they continued their descent, he took her hand just in case.  She didn’t pull away.

Kasia’s smile was wide when they walked in.  She tilted her head, and bared her teeth, and Sarkan shivered at the sight.

Agnieszka took a deep breath and gripped his hand tighter.  She was carrying a pot with rosemary and lemon, the heat gone thanks to one of Sarkan’s spells.  

She was shaking when she set down the pot.  Kasia called to them, but neither responded, even though Agnieszka was biting down on her lip hard enough to bleed.  

“Look at me,” he reminded her when he saw the indecision in her face, and her face hardened, nodding.

They waited until the smell seeped into the walls of the tomb.  They were already holding hands, so when Agnieszka started to chant, her magic was already drawing at his.

This time, he didn’t fight it.  He let her magic draw his away, let Agnieszka wield his magic as if it was her own.  It took a lot of effort for him not to snatch it back, but he remembered the way the tree had stood taller as their magic had overtaken it.  This wasn’t a lot to give up if it meant that Kasia would stand tall once again.

Kasia's mouth was wide open, soundlessly screaming.  Their magic had enveloped her, and drops of sap were trickling from her eyes and nose.  They ran like tears, and with the way Kasia’s face twisted in anguish, it looked like it was working.

Agnieszka was gripping tighter on his hand at the sight, horror etched onto her face even as she continued to sing to a happy tune.  She was drawing magic more rapidly now, but unlike the time with the tree, this time it didn’t hurt.  He embraced it, knowing that she would use his magic for the better.

Kasia had broken the chains, and fell forward with a loud clang.  In her shock, Agnieszka let go of his hand, and Kasia turned her face upright in a snarl as the spell broke abruptly.  Their combined magic dissipated as they both sagged under the fatigue it brought on them, and Kasia lunged toward them.

He grabbed for Agnieszka’s hand and started chanting, “ _Ulozishtus,”_ the spell meant to purge.  Agnieszka still had magic left even though they both felt weak, and this time, he was the one in control.  He used their magic like a fine-tuned whip, cracking it down until Kasia stood up shakily. In her face, there were no more traces of the Wood.

She looked healed, and Agnieszka let go of his hand with a choked cry.  “Kasia!” she shouted, rushing forward, and Kasia fell into her arms.

* * *

Unlike the other time, Sarkan felt invigorated.  He felt magic thrumming in his veins, untold power at his fingertips just waiting to be used.  

Agnieszka was still with Kasia, up in her bedroom, and Sarkan didn’t want to bother her.  He snuck out, in the robes they had created together, and ran into Agnieszka in the stairway.

“She’s sleeping,” explained Agnieszka, and he noticed that she too, was wearing the robes of pure magic.  She was rocking back on forth on her feet as she stood in front of him, obviously anxious to use magic.

Sarkan led her outside without another word, and they were both quiet as they made their way down the winding path.  The magic in the air was leading them somewhere, and it was a short walk later when they saw it.

Smoke above the Wood.  And the smell of burning.

They both looked at each other in shock.  It was unprecedented to have anything in the Wood burning; despite its name, the place wasn’t like a normal forest and fire did not have a place there.

They had to investigate.  

Normally, Sarkan wouldn’t let them rush blindly in.  It was dangerous because corruption was around every corner and even walking in the Wood could infect them.

But both of them were still riding the high of saving Kasia, and they boldly strode in after one more glance toward each other.  Their robes shimmered with the magic that had created them, shedding light on the darkened path.  

Nothing disturbed them.  There was no sound.  No sight of any walkers or any other creatures that dwelled in the wood.  Just Sarkan and Agnieszka.

He jumped a bit when she reached for his hand.  She was shaking, and he held tighter in case she tried to slip away.  She gave him a sliver of a smile, and they continued their trek.

Agnieszka gasped when they reached the source of the burning.  A heart-tree had gone up in flames and was burning.  It was the only thing on fire in the clearing.

“That’s where I found her,” said Agnieszka, quietly.  

“How did you get her out?” he asked.  “The heart-tree wouldn’t have given her up without a fight.”

“ _Fulmia_ ,” she whispered.

Sarkan shivered at the memory.  She had almost brought down the tombs all those months ago with the force of their combined magic.  He briefly wondered just how powerful her _fulmia_ had been without him, how beautiful the wreckage her magic could have caused unfettered and free.

But it wasn’t _fulmia_ they needed here.  They needed fire.

“Do you remember that day?” he asked.  She turned to look at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears.  She was afraid, even with the magic running through her veins.  He had to burn that fear right out of her.  “Here we don’t have to be careful.”

She caught on immediately, her shaky answering smile getting more stable as the seconds passed by.

This time, he pushed his magic toward her.  He took her left hand into both his hands, and closed his eyes.

Sweltering, burning heat filled the air.  The smoke from the heart-tree was nothing compared to the blistering heat that surrounded them.  

He didn’t dare open his eyes as Agnieszka took more and more of his magic.  He swayed a bit, but the amount she was taking was nothing compared to the amount she had needed to heal.  Her magic had always been stronger when it hadn’t needed to be reined in, and it _showed_.

He could even smell the burning.  And with his eyes closed, he could better hear the fire crackling.  She was doing it.  She was burning the Wood.

It felt like an hour later when the fire was silenced.   

A hand pressed against his cheek.  He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare open his eyes.

A second.  A heartbeat.

Then a soft sigh of contentment, and her lips were against his.

Sarkan was weak for that one second of contact.  He wanted so badly to keep his eyes closed.  To just keep kissing her as if nothing else mattered.

But it wasn’t right.

He opened his eyes, and gently pushed her away.

Her eyes were bright and burning as she stared at him.  “Sarkan?” she asked, her voice hoarse, and he shook his head.

“You impossible creature,” he hissed, “I’m a century and more older than you.  You shouldn’t – ”

She actually cut him off with a laugh, her eyes crinkling as she let her mirth bubble out of her.  It was ridiculously endearing, so much so that he was rendered speechless for the moment.  His heart was full of his affection of her, borne out of his admiration of her and their continuous sharing of magic.

“Don’t be silly,” she said, and he had a split second to be offended by her playful tone before she was fisting her hands into the front of his robe.  The constellations danced under her hands, as if remembering her as their creator.  “Do you _want_ me to stop?” she questioned.

He stared at her, unable to formulate any thoughts as he lost himself in her eyes.  He wondered how he had ever thought her not to be beautiful, how he had ever thought she was homely and less attractive than any other woman he had met.  He wondered if that was his love talking, as if after centuries of not loving anyone, he had remembered to do so without even realizing.  

“No,” he whispered, and she laughed under her breath, getting impossibly closer until her breath was ghosting above his.

“Thought so,” she teased, and then she was kissing him.

* * *

They burnt a good portion of the Wood.  The destruction had stopped at the ashes of the heart-tree, as if there was something protecting the rest of the Wood.

The heart-tree was the guardian.  If they burned enough of them, they could finally win.

They needed help.  Their combined magic was strong, but Sarkan wasn’t fool enough to think they could win with just the two of them.

He got his wish.  A week after the burning, and Prince Marek was pounding on the door to the Tower.  The Falcon was with him.

“How did you do it?” asked Marek, his eyes crazed and wild with hope.  “How did you burn the Wood?”

Sarkan bowed his head, and when he looked back up, he met the Falcon’s eyes.  

Before he witnessed Agnieszka’s beautiful and impossible magic for himself, he would have kept her magic hidden.  It was too risky, what with the memory spell on Prince Marek, and he hadn’t wanted the Falcon to know yet.  But now, he didn’t want to keep her a secret anymore.

“It wasn’t just me,” he said.

That stopped Marek, and he frowned.  “Who?”

“The girl,” said the Falcon.  “You’ll introduce us, Sarkan?”

He nodded, and wondered if Agnieszka would be able to combine her magic with the Falcon.

* * *

She couldn’t.  They tried it, multiple times, and while she was able to create some semblance of a combined spell, it lacked the creativity and power that theirs possessed.  

When they stopped for the night, Agnieszka followed him to his room.  “Do you think it’ll get better?” she asked.  She wiggled her fingers for emphasis.  “If we keep practicing.”

He made a face, and she smiled.  “Possibly,” he grumbled, trying to shove down the jealousy that was starting.  He wasn’t successful.

“Don’t be jealous,” she said, and tapped him on the nose.  “I like _you_ best.”

She left before he could get a word in, going back to her bedroom to take care of Kasia.

He watched her leave.

She would be a force in Kralia.  Even despite not knowing anything about the court, Agnieszka would dazzle them all.

Even those who didn’t know magic could see how beautiful she was, and surprisingly, Sarkan wanted to see her one day in front of all those stuffy wizards.

Of course, they would have to defeat the Wood first, and despite the strength of their combined magic, he wasn’t sure if it was possible.

* * *

Just like last time, after healing Jerzy, they were both on a magic high.  He felt it thrumming through his veins once again, and when he cast protections on Marek’s men, they floated downward like clouds, a remnant of sharing his magic so intimately with Agnieszka.  

He couldn’t help the slight smile that crossed his face at the sight, and flushed when the Falcon caught his eye.

He was being silly, but since they had been able to burn the Wood so easily when they saved Kasia from corruption, he felt less worried than he normally would.  And they had Marek’s men with them now.  There was even less to worry about.

They never made it to the heart-tree.

The Wood was scared.  It had already lost a good portion of its territory, and Sarkan should have realized it would be putting up protections they didn’t know about.  But he had been drunk on the first victory against the Wood and on Agnieszka’s lips that he hadn’t wanted to entertain the idea that the victory wasn’t decisive.

Because it wasn’t.  The mantises in front of them were cutting down Marek’s men like paper, and there was an intact heart-tree right in the middle.  Fire wouldn’t work here.

And _fulmia_ had a chance of hurting the others.  He wasn’t sure if casting it was the right choice.  

But more and more men were being killed, their horses along with them, and it wouldn’t be long before the mantises got to them.

Agnieszka was already ahead of him; she had taken off her shoes long ago, and her bare feet were on the grass.  “You do it, too,” she said, quietly, and he didn’t argue.

When they cast _fulmia_ together, the world seemed to shake.  

Sarkan was controlling it this time.  He had taken Agnieszka’s magic and had whipped it around the tree, intent on bringing it down.  He didn’t know what would happen; the heart-tree wasn’t connected to anyone corrupted, so their only known method of destroying the Wood wouldn’t work here.  But if they could bring down the guardian at the source, wouldn’t it have the same outcome?

Every time the two of them shouted, the tree gave a little more.  The roots were being pulled out of the ground.  They were long and gnarled and full of knots, and threatened to trip them.  With each root being pulled out, the tree became easier to pull.  It seemed to be working.

There was silence when the heart-tree gave up.  It opened up, the bark shifting as if it wasn’t unyielding and hard, and the Queen was there.

Marek gave out a choked cry, and made an aborted movement to run forward.  

The Queen wasn’t opening her eyes.  But they had to get her out anyway.

“It’s a peace offering,” explained Agnieszka.  “The same thing happened with Kasia.”  She slipped her hand out of his hold, and before he could stop her, she was already stepping away.  The mantises had disappeared in the confusion, so the only thing left was the heart-tree and the Queen inside it.  

None of them moved as Agnieszka walked boldly up to the heart-tree.  She reached in, the bark giving way, and pulled the Queen out.  

* * *

The trip back to the Tower was quiet.  Only the five of them survived, and the Queen still hadn’t opened her eyes.

Sarkan was itching to check if she was Corrupted, but it wasn’t safe to do so within the confines of the Wood.  They had to get out first.

“I’m taking her back,” declared Marek as soon as they were out of the Wood.  “She’s been away too long, already.”

Sarkan was about to snap that the Queen might still be corrupted, but the Falcon intervened first.  They were given another three days to check if she was corrupted.

In the end, they found that the Queen wasn’t full of corruption.  Both the Falcon and him had checked.  

Her eyes were still closed, however.  She was breathing — shallow breaths, but taking air in all the same. She hadn’t awoken yet.  He didn’t know how safe it would be for when she did open her eyes, but he knew the Falcon would be able to handle it.

“We’ll need to take the girl,” said the Falcon.  “She needs to be registered.”

It would be safer if Agnieszka was with them in the capital.  They were both worried about the state of the Queen, and although Agnieszka could only rely on Sarkan for magic sharing, Agnieszka could draw from the Falcon if need be.  It wouldn’t be perfect, but they only had to hold out until he could get there from the Tower.

And they still needed more men.  They needed wizards to come out and help them hold back the Wood.

If they saw what Agnieszka could do, he was sure she could convince them.

* * *

It was awfully lonely without her around.

Kasia was still here, and he didn’t mind her company.  She didn’t want to go back to her family; they didn’t know she was alive and she preferred it that way.  They never would have believed her anyway.  They would have burned her at the stake if she ever came back.

“And you’re easy to take care of, anyway,” she said, quietly.  “I don’t know why I worried so much when I was younger.”

Something grabbed at his heart and he frowned.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I never thought to explain myself.”

“It’s okay,” said Kasia.  She was smiling.  “Nieshka told me why.  I’m no longer angry with you.”

“Thank you,” he said, and he didn’t mean the thanks for the food she handed to him.

* * *

When Agnieszka reached Kralia, she sent word.  

“It’s not too bad here,” she said, and her voice sounded tinny through the magical contraption they were using to talk to each other over such a long distance.  “Solya hasn’t left my side.”

“Solya,” he repeated, trying his best to keep his tone level, and Agnieszka laughed.

“What kind of trial are they going to put me through?” she wondered, and he spent the rest of the conversation trying his best to prepare her for a test that most wizards undertook seven years of study for.

She called him that night.  Her voice was full of wonder.

“It went well,” she said.  “Somewhat.  They’ve called me the Siren.  Since I sing most of my spells.”

It fit her.  “And how did the magic sharing go?”

“Solya volunteered,” she said.  “And that’s the bad news.  They won’t let me go until they experiment some more with it.”

“Do you mind?” he asked.  He wanted so badly to be there with her, to see what kind of experiments they were trying to undertake.  He wondered if they would succeed where he failed; they had more wizards and witches in Kralia, but Agnieszka’s magic was so different and so beautiful, he wondered if it was even _possible_ to understand how she combined magic.

“I want to learn more,” admitted Agnieszka.  “They’ve never seen magic like mine before.  Not even Jaga could do this.  Though they do think she’s a fairytale.”

He laughed at the idea of Agnieszka’s bluntness colliding headlong with the stuffy wizards of Kralia.  They never stood a chance.

The Wood could wait.  If Agnieszka could become even more in tune with her magic, they could actually stand a fighting chance with the Wood.

And the trial for the Queen’s life still hadn’t happened.  

Until then, it was alright if Agnieszka stayed in Kralia.

Even if he missed her.

* * *

There was someone pounding on the door.  Kasia had roused him, worry on her face as she shook him awake.  He had fallen asleep in the library again.

He groggily made his way down the winding stairs.  Prince Marek awaited them.  And an army.

“Your girl kidnapped my mother,” he all but snapped.

“Why would she?” he asked, suddenly glad he had fallen asleep in the robes made out of moving constellations.  There were a lot of eyes staring back at him.

“Because she’s the Siren,” continued Marek.  He sneered at Sarkan.  “Don’t tell me you didn’t know just how manipulative she is.  You’re the one who trained her.”

Marek was spouting such ridiculousness at him that it took him a while to understand.  He blinked slowly.  “She’s a young village girl from Dvernik,” he said.  “She’s as innocent as they come.”

Marek seemed to grow angrier at his words, breathing heavier as he opened his mouth to speak.

He cut Marek off before he could.  “And Agnieszka saved the Queen in the first place.  She’s the reason that the Queen even left the Wood.”

Marek snapped his mouth close, his eyes narrowed into a glare.  Then he laughed.  “She’s got you under a spell, too, hasn’t she?”

What had happened in Kralia?  Why was Marek so intent on painting Agnieszka as a kidnapper?

He looked into the crowd for a way to stall, searching the rows of men for someone familiar.  

“Where’s Solya?” he asked, and Marek’s face changed.  

“With _her_ ,” he spat.  “She’s turned everyone against us.  The King’s dead.  Half our wizards and witches are missing.   And now she has my Mother.”

He shouldn’t argue with Marek.  Marek wouldn’t listen to reason anyway.

“Where are they?” he asked.  

“In the Wood.  And you’re coming with us,” said Marek.  “We’ll need a wizard.”

* * *

The trek to the Wood was daunting.  He was marching in the middle of the army, just in case he tried anything funny.  He took potions with him, but he wasn’t sure how much use they would be if the Wood had gotten a hold of Agnieszka.

If they turned her into a heart-tree, they were all doomed.  The Wood would be able to share magic with just about anyone, and no one would be able to stand a chance.  It would expand its territory, and they would never get back.

Solya was missing as well.  

It felt like marching under a death sentence.  They were going into certain death.

He cursed Marek’s blind stupidity once again, wishing he had never let the prince bully them into saving the Queen.  He was a wild card, and Sarkan had played right into his hands.

The Wood looked different when they walked in.  It seemed more vibrant, even with the silence permeating their surroundings.  There was no one around them.  No creatures.  Not even the walkers.  

But the Wood knew they were there.  He was certain of this.

It was letting them get further in, so it could get them all at once.  This many men wouldn’t help, even if they were carrying torches of light.

The Wood wouldn’t burn.  Not with their guardians still alive.

Not with Agnieszka and Solya about to become one of them.

Everything went wrong all at once.  One second they were blindly marching into the silence of the Wood, the next, mantises and walkers were emerging from the shadows of the trees.  They took the first soldier out with ease, long arms slicing off human limbs faster than the human eye could perceive.

No one even had time to scream.

And then they were in the midst of battle.

Sarkan watched in muted horror as the soldiers drew their swords.  They tossed their torches, but although the creatures of the Wood shrank back, they were still surrounded in a ring of fire.

It would hold them back.

But they would find a way in eventually.  And then they would all be dead.

“Do something,” commanded Marek.

He couldn’t cast _fulmia_.  Not without Agnieszka.  

But he was still a wizard of great renown.  He _could_ do something.

So he closed his eyes and reached for his magic, chanting all the while.

The fire around them grew larger, racing out white-hot and licking at the mantis around them.

The creatures didn’t emit a sound of pain, but when he opened his eyes, he saw some of them had already turned to ash.  He had used the fire from the torches to make the fire even stronger, and he watched as Marek’s soldiers used the distraction to their advantage.  Their swords were enchanted, and they cut into the mantis with ease.  

Against all odds, they were _winning_.  

They were still losing soldiers.  Men were still dying, but it was at a decreased pace.  Mantises were dropping like flies around them, cut to pieces.

A soldier thrust his sword into one of them and was unable to take it out.  In desperation, he grabbed one of the claws from the mantis, using his strength to break it apart from its original owner.  He did so just in time, swinging the sharp tip upward.  

It worked even better than the enchanted sword.  It sliced cleanly right through, the attacking mantis falling dead a second later.

After that, the battle went a lot smoother.  It still raged on, and Sarkan nearly collapsed from the strain put on his magic as he conjured more and more white-hot flames.  It gave the soldiers much needed windows of opportunity, and soon, the clearing was quiet.

They had lost only a few men.  They were still huddled together, and in the quiet, a lone figure emerged.

His heart leaped.

Agnieszka?

Solya?

The Queen’s face came into the light.  Sarkan’s heart dropped.  The only reason the Queen would be alone was if Agnieszka and Solya had been taken.  They wouldn’t have left her alone in the Wood if they had a choice.

A victory here meant nothing if they couldn’t save them.

Marek’s face shone, however.  He dropped his sword into the ground, hilt up.  “Mother,” he called.

The Queen’s expression didn’t change.  She didn’t look any different from that day they had saved her.

“Are you alright?” asked Marek as she drew even closer.  He moved forward, resting one hand on her shoulder.  “Did they hurt you?  You are safe now.”

She was still.  And then slowly, as if out of wonder, she raised her hand, placing it over Marek’s heart.  

A beat of silence.

Then an aborted gasp.  Thorns and vines alike sprouted from Marek’s back, overtaking him and stabbing straight through his heart.

Just as quickly, they retreated, and Marek slumped over, dead.

After they had won such a decisive victory, _this_ was almost too much for the soldiers to handle.  They couldn’t move.  

But even if they had the strength to move, they wouldn’t have been able to do so.  The queen moved fast, her hands transformed into thorns that sliced easily through the soldiers around them, as if they were made of paper.

Sarkan couldn’t even muster up the energy to cast another spell of fire.  He was still too full of shock that the Queen had been corrupted all this while.  And they had missed it.

They had let her straight into Kralia.  

While he had been sure they had time to allow Agnieszka to learn more about her own magic, Sarkan had also given the Queen just as much time to destroy Kralia from within.  She had the King’s ear.  She had access to just about everything, and she hadn’t wasted that time like they did.

In less than a minute, all the soldiers around him were dead.  

He was the last one standing.

Everything he had worked for was now over.  The Wood had won.  The royal family was dead.  The Wood now had two wizards and one powerful witch.  They would make three heart-trees, and no wizard or witch left in the world would be able to take up the mantle of protector.  Not when he was sure the Wood’s first act would be to destroy the Tower.

He had failed everyone.

Agnieszka’s face flashed before his eyes.  His heart ached at the thought of it.  They had just fallen in love when she had been called away.  He hadn’t even been able to spend the last month with her.

He wanted to see her again.

He slumped to his knees, his energy spent and his heart broken.

The Queen stepped in front of him.  Her expression was still unchanged.

“Why?” he asked, but she didn’t answer him.

She reached out, almost as slowly as she did when she had killed Marek.

And then he knew no more.

* * *

He was in pain when he finally woke.  His body ached, as if he had been thrown around.  

He didn’t know where he was.  There was a circle of heart-trees around him.  The Queen was nowhere to be found.

Just silence.

Nothing moved everywhere he looked.  It was just him, the heart-trees, and the Wood.

He gingerly got to his feet.  He waited for something to happen.

Nothing did.

Water seeped through his shoes and to his toes.  He waded through them, and knew that the water at his feet was the Spindle.  This was where it ended.  

It ended at a small pool at the roots of a heart-tree.  But it wasn’t like any heart-tree he had ever seen.  It towered over them, broad and unyielding, and its silver leaves full of pure-white flowers.  

He approached it slowly, knowing that at any second the Queen could come.  

Why had she left him alone?  His magic was drained, and his body ached, and he was sure he wasn’t an actual threat.  Not this deep in the Wood with corruption probably clinging onto him.  

But it didn’t seem smart to leave him here like this.  And the Wood never did something this stupid.  It always thought out every possible outcome from every scenario, and had a multitude of responses at the ready.

Sarkan had no idea what the Wood’s plan was.

But he knew he had to do something.  He wasn’t just going to stand there and wait for the Queen to come back.

When he got closer, close enough to touch, he realized something.  There was something familiar, something calling out to him loud enough that he could hear it echo in his ears.  He recognized the magic in the surrounding air, knowing it as intimately as he knew his own.

There was no doubt in his mind.  This was the heart-tree the Queen had made from Agnieszka.

His heart ached, and his breath choked at the thought.  Tears prickled at the side of his eyes.  

He reached out before he could stop himself, pressing his palm flat against the tree’s bark.  

Immediately, he cried out in pain.  The tree drew at his magic even faster than Agnieszka had even done, with no regard to his safety.  When he broke contact, the draining stopped.  

This was why the Wood had left him alone in the clearing.  He was a test.

The Queen had learned that Agnieszka could share magic with others.  An unprecedented skill that the Wood had most likely never encountered.  And it had wanted that skill _badly._ Badly enough to send a likeness of the Queen out like a puppet.  To have them lower their guard until they were able to get its  hands on Agnieszka.

And it had worked.  This was the result of their folly.

The Wood now had a way to drain magic.  And he was the first victim.

He staggered away from the tree until water was seeping into his shoes once again.  He sat down slowly, breathing heavily at the emptiness within him.  His magic reserves were dangerously low.  He was surrounded in hostile territory.  Solya was missing.  Agnieszka was a heart-tree.

But Agnieszka had saved Kasia before.  Kasia had been integrated into an existing heart-tree.  If he broke the heart-tree apart, then just maybe he could save Agnieszka.  

But to do that, he would have to get magic from somewhere.

He cupped his hands together.  The water ran into it.  

The Spindle was full of the Wood’s corruption.  But it also held magic in it.  If he drank it, the Wood would have its hold on him forever.  He would never be able to leave.

But if he drank it, he would be able to draw from the magic within.  And he was dead anyway, if he didn’t try this.

The water went down smoothly.  It soothed his sore throat, and tasted unlike anything he had ever tasted before.  He drank until he could drink no more.

Then he stood and faced the heart-tree.

Magic thrummed through his veins once again.  He felt the same as he had that night they had burned the Wood.  

His heart was in his throat when he spoke.  “ _Polzhyt mollin, polzhyt talo,”_ he said, and his magic arced through him.  Fire started to form, and he watched as the flames licked at the tree’s roots.

The fire spread, and even though heart-trees didn’t burn, his strength from the Spindle seemed to give his magic power.  The flames were orange-red and they continued to circle the tree, even spreading to its branches.  

It seemed to be working.  He put even more strength into his spell, chanting loudly into the silence of the clearing.  A bead of sweat traveled down his neck as the heat became even more sweltering and he poured more of himself into the spell.

He was cut off mid-word when a root of the tree suddenly sprang out of the ground.  He let out a gasp, and then it wound itself around his waist, pulling him flush against the tree’s trunk.

His heart dropped and he was forced to drop the chant in case he burned.  The fire went out as soon as he stopped feeding it magic.  The heart-tree looked untouched.

But the heart-tree wasn’t draining his magic.  It was just holding him tightly against the trunk.

Agnieszka seemed to speak into his mind. She called his name, and he couldn’t help letting out a shaky breath at the sound of her voice.

 _We may not be able to touch each other,_ she said into his mind, _but we don’t need to hold hands anymore._

He twisted in the root’s grasp, turning so he can press his palm flat against the tree’s trunk.  He moved it until he could feel Agnieszka’s magic even more intimately.  He knew she was pressing her hand against his on the other side of the bark.

“ _Tihas, tihas, kai tihas_ ,” she sang, and his heart soared as his magic reared in him, reacting to Agnieszka’s voice.  It knew her magic, and it had missed her.  Power he never knew he had rose to meet Agnieszka’s magic until they danced around each other and became one.

It was beautiful.

He gave her everything freely, and she used it all around her, letting the healing magic seep into the broad heart-tree.  

He didn’t know what her plan was.  The heart-tree wasn’t hurt, and he was pretty certain heart-trees couldn’t be corrupted.  But he trusted her.  Even if he didn’t understand, even if in all his years he would never be doing what she was doing right now, he continued to give up his magic freely for Agnieszka to use.

It all seemed to come to a head at once.  One second Agnieszka was still singing, and the next, she was suddenly in his arms.

The root was gone.  The _heart-tree_ was gone.

He blinked, too shocked to do anything else.  It shouldn’t have worked.  There was no way Agnieszka _healed_ her way out of a heart-tree.

She smiled at him.  Her hair had streaks of dirt in them, and she looked worse for wear.  She looked like she had the first few times he had seen her in the Tower.

He didn’t think he had ever seen a more beautiful sight, however.

“Hi,” she said, happily.  “We did it.”

“How?” he asked.

“With each other,” she said, not really explaining anything at all, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss against his lips.

Then she pushed him away, turning.  

Sarkan had been so eager to drink in his fill of Agnieszka, he hadn’t realized the heart-tree had become something else.

It looked like a female.  She was made of wood; branches made up her hair and her tears were mud.  She was crying.  But they were silent tears, as if the female couldn’t help it.

“Sister,” said the wooden female, and both Agnieszka and Sarkan whirled to face the other way.

The Queen stood at the entrance of the clearing.  Her usual expressionless face was full of shock.  “Linaya,” she breathed, “How is this possible?”

“They healed me,” said Linaya.  She had moved away from Agnieszka and had taken a step toward the Queen.  “They can heal you.”

For a long second, it looked like the Queen would accept.  Then she was running forward, her hands made of thorns once more and her face contorted into an expression of rage.  She was heading straight toward Agnieszka.

Linaya intercepted her.  She moved just as fast as her sister.  Her hands were made of vines and thorns as well, and they wrapped around the Queen, holding her still.

Agnieszka’s face was solemn.  “We have to heal her,” she told Sarkan.

He didn’t argue.  He gave her his hand, and his magic.

Healing magic descended around the two sisters.  Agnieszka had learned a lot that month away, and it showed.  Her magic was more refined now, but just as beautiful, and Sarkan let her control the spell without a second thought.

The Queen was changing in front of their eyes.  Her human disguise was melting away, until she looked the same as her sister.  She had stopped struggling against her sister, her eyes closed as if waiting for her fate.

Then as Agnieszka was taking a breath for air, the Queen broke Linaya’s hold.  She moved too fast to predict; one moment she had been standing still, and the next one of her hands had knocked Sarkan clear off his feet.  He hit one of the other heart-trees with a thud, and although his head spun from the sudden pain, he tried his best to get to his feet to get back to Agnieszka.

But Agnieszka didn’t seem worried.  The Queen’s hands were wrapped around her, but her face showed no surprise.  Her mouth was set in a determined line.  

“You humans only destroy,” snarled the Queen, “and now you try to trick me with my sister?”

“That is your sister,” said Agnieszka, quietly.  “We’ve healed her.  She is no longer a heart-tree.”

It was clear the Queen didn’t believe her.  She tightened her hold, and although a brief look of pain crossed Agnieszka’s face, Agnieszka was still staring determinedly at the Queen.

“You have killed and forgotten just as much,” said Agnieszka.  “But there is a way to heal you.”  Inconceivably, Agnieszka broke the Queen’s hold.  She lifted one hand and pressed it flat against the Queen’s vines and they broke away at her touch.  

There was a fruit in her hand, summoned by her magic.  She held it up to the Queen.

The Queen stared at it, and then looked down at her vines.  Agnieszka had burned them.

She turned slowly.  Linaya was still standing still at the other end of the clearing.  It wasn’t clear what was going on between them.  It seemed like a century that the two sisters continued to stare at each other.  

The Queen took the fruit.  Mud-tears were running down her wooden cheeks.  Linaya was at the other side of the clearing, and then she was there, next to her sister.  

The Queen took a bite, the juices running down and staining the wooden skin.  Linaya had gathered up water from the Spindle in a leaf, and her sister took it, downing it all.

“ _Vanalem_ ,” whispered Agnieszka, and when she pressed her hand against the Queen, the Queen shuddered.

Her ripped gown of finery started to fade away, and her wooden body started to shrink.  She had hunched over when Agnieszka had spoken, and although she had towered over them before, she was now several feet smaller.

Linaya’s voice echoed through the clearing, over the sounds of her sister’s transformation.  It wasn’t a song that Sarkan knew, but the melody was easy to pick up, and Agnieszka and Sarkan started to sing it with her.  Their voices melded together.  The song felt like coming home.

When it was all over, the Queen was in the same place as the broad heart-tree.  It was barely three feet tall, the trunk narrower than them and the silver leaves few in number.

“She will grow,” said Linaya.  She took Agnieszka’s hands into her own.  “Thank you.”

Agnieszka met Sarkan’s eyes over Linaya’s shoulders.  “No,” she said, “the gratitude is ours.”

Sarkan sank to his knees, the relief overwhelming.

They had won.

* * *

They stayed in the Wood for a couple more hours.  Sarkan felt the weariness in his bones, but it didn’t feel right to leave Linaya alone in the Wood with her transformed sister.  

Agnieszka and he worked to heal the rest of the heart-trees around them.  Their magic was replenished by the Spindle and by fruit from the heart-trees.  

Before they left, they had healed many heart-trees.  The rest of them were scattered in the Wood, and before that, they had to rest.  Linaya understood.  

They promised to come back the next day.  

The Wood was eerily quiet as they made their way out.  They glimpsed walkers and other creatures, but none of them approached them, content to watch with hollow eyes as they made the long trek out.

Agnieszka collapsed against him when they finally were inside the Tower.

Her eyes were bright, but she seemed too tired to hold herself up.   

They slept for a long time.  They cuddled up against one another in Sarkan’s bed, dead to the world as they finally got some well-earned rest.

When they woke, Sarkan’s nose wrinkled.  They smelled awful.

She woke slowly.  When she saw his expression, an amused smile spread across her face.  There was still dirt streaked on her face.  Her hair was matted beyond repair.  And her gown was ripped and stained and muddy.

Sarkan still found her beautiful.

“You need a bath,” he said, and she threw her head back and laughed.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” she said, and she was still smiling when she looked at him.  “And I’m not the only one who needs one.”  She poked him after she had said so.  He made a face.  It only made her giggle harder.

“You’re unbelievable,” he griped, and she grinned.

“Don’t be like that,” she said.  “Let’s take one together?”

His heart skipped a beat at her invitation.  He stared at her bright eyes, her wide grin, and wondered just how he had gotten so lucky to have found her in Dvernik just a year ago.  

“Okay,” he said, and took her hand.  

 


End file.
